


Rainy Days

by mar_etadmare



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Let the Batfamily mourn Dick's death 2K17, Not Happy, Post-Canon Fix-It, in case you can't tell already this is sad, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 21:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mar_etadmare/pseuds/mar_etadmare
Summary: Tim is trying to cope after Dick's death. Key word: trying. Jason gets to try out his new role as the oldest.





	Rainy Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I have a bad day and write it out. I've been working on writing more angst, and so far this is the only little baby piece I'm happy with. Please enjoy, and also please please please let me know if you liked it or not!

Tim stared straight through his computer screen. It hadn't changed in the past half hour, and the numbers and charts had blurred together long ago. He no longer saw stock graphs and percents. How could he, when the image of his eldest brother’s tombstone was permanently tattooed to his eyelids. Closing them only made the picture clearer, so he ignored the burning pain that begged to be satisfied. He ignored the feeling of wetness sliding down his cheeks, only blinking for the first time in a while to try and get rid of it. He ignored the familiar hollow, empty feeling in his chest. That emptiness seemed like the only thing in his life that didn’t leave him. Unlike the people he loved.

When the door to his bedroom opened some time later, Tim didn’t look up. He didn’t have the energy or the motivation. A part of him hoped that his horrible luck would pull through, and it was an assassin or hitman there to kill him on the one time he failed to check who was at the door. Such a large part of him hoped this that he couldn’t find it in himself to be even slightly ashamed for thinking it. Unfortunately, fate never gave him what he wanted, and now was no exception.

The visitor stepped across the threshold and gently closed the door behind them. They didn’t turn on the light, instead leaving the room illuminated by the laptop sitting on Tim. They made their way over to the bed by muscle memory, slowing easing themself on the edge of the bed by Tim’s knees. 

He still didn’t look up.

The figure reached out and lifted the device from his lap, folding it and placing it on the floor. Now in complete darkness, Tim was aware of how cold he was without the heat of the laptop. He distantly wondered just how long he had sat there staring at it for it to get so overheated. 

A hand gingerly cupped Tim’s face, framing his jaw and tickling the hair at the base of his neck. Almost hesitantly, a thumb brushed the tears from his cheek, then another hand did the same to the other side. 

They sat like that for a few seconds, Tim’s head limp in the hands of whoever had decided to check on him. For a minute he could almost convince himself this was Dick. Whenever he had a bad day like this, Dick was always there, knowing exactly what he needed. Whether that was a push to make him go out and turn his day around, or someone to be there as a shoulder to cry on and take care of him. The sensation of cloth against his face jarred Tim out of his thoughts, and the smell of cigarettes, leather, and rain was a stark reminder that the person in front of him was not Dick. But the muscles are the same, his mind argued, and only Dick gives hugs like this, so who else could it be?

The logical side of his mind chimed in to reprimand him, because Dick was dead, so how could he possibly be here now, holding him? He couldn’t. There was a gravestone out in the Wayne cemetery, so Dick couldn’t be holding him. Dick couldn't be stroking his hair and murmuring in his ear. It couldn’t be Dick’s shirt he was wrapping his arms around, grabbing onto in fistfuls and holding like a lifeline. Dick didn’t smoke cigarettes and wear leather jackets. He minded the rain on patrols and his apartment didn’t have a leak. He didn’t-

He didn’t have a heartbeat anymore. Not like the one under Tim’s ear. His body didn’t hold warmth, not like the one sheltering Tim from the world. He couldn’t be here, helping Tim through the worst time in his life, because he was the one who caused it. 

So Tim held on to Jason, and cried out his exhaustion, his grief, his anger, his loneliness, his frustration, his very being, into the fabric of his only remaining older brother’s shirt. Jason didn’t say anything, just rubbed his back and stroked his hair. He didn’t comment when he had to leave and get a new shirt once Tim had cried himself out. He didn’t blink an eye when he had to go get glasses of water, extra pillows and blankets, and dress Tim in his pajamas. Nor did he say a thing when they laid down in the bed and Tim curled up against his chest. He just wrapped his arms around his little brother and sorrowfully accepted his new role as the oldest.

**Author's Note:**

> Trash, I know, it's not even 1,000 words, but this is what happens when I try and write angst so just bear with me here guys. I was also peer pressured into posting this my wonderful, beautiful, amazing beta Elena. She's literally a saint. As usual, kudos make my day and comments will clear my skin and water my crops. If you liked it, please let me know so that I know I actually did something right! 
> 
> My tumblr here: https://mar-etadmare.tumblr.com/


End file.
